• Trying times

    Addiction. Hunger. Desperation. I had looked all over, in all the usual places: my desk drawer, my briefcase, the nooks and crannies around my office, nothing. I was damn near close to loosing that which distinguishes us from animals: my ability to reason. Yet it was at this most desperate hour that a single hope shown through the mist of dire circumstance: “my car, maybe I’ll find it in my car! RELEASE THE HOUNDS!”

    Fifteen minutes later I triumphantly shook a full, jingling fist of change.

    DAMN THEE TO THE FIREY PITS OF MY STOMACH, VILE KIT KAT BAR!

  • I am the very model of a modern major league punch-line

    The owner of our beleaguered little baseball team has more than his fair share of bad press. Whether or not it is deserved is for others to decide. I’m interested in the press release the team recently made available, after Vince was accused of throwing a tantrum in front of a group of fans. A team spokesman reported that the Rays had conducted their own internal investigation, and determined that Mr. Naimoli had done nothing wrong. Here’s an excerpt from that internal report,

    DISCLAIMER: A real excerpt of the actual text of the report does not follow. I’ve wholly invented my own version for the expressed purpose of entertaining myself. I am, after all, my own most loyal fan.

    “Mr. Naimoli is a kind, loving, easygoing, and charitable man. The very idea that he would yell at a fan is unfathomable. Our own, hand picked, witnesses to the alleged “incident” concur that the gentleman that signs our paychecks is guilty of no wrong doing. We understand that misunderstandings will occasionally happen, and this organization is willing to forgive and forget. We therefore hope that the confused fans in question will continue to purchase full price tickets to our home games this season.”

  • When cleaner isn’t better

    There are some circles where this is generally not true (there’s a circle around my house, for example). However, there are a few narrowly defined areas where cleaning – especially with commercially available solvents – is taboo. I’ve heard that there are families where the unwashed spaghetti sauce pot is an heirloom, passed from generation to unwashed generation. What I want to know is if the same can hold true for a coffee mug? The way I see it, an office coffee mug is barely worth it’s weight in Cascade if you can’t determine it’s age like an old tree.